


Art of Interaction.

by twistedmiracle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And Harry needs a nude model, Draco kind of does as well, Draco's a snot, EWE but not AU, Harry already has a boyfriend?, Harry's earnest, Just a little different, M/M, Oh did I mention, TM's drabbles, They are both in art school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 19:17:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8634766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: They met (again) in art school.





	

"All right sir, I'll make sure to have at least three drawings of a train, with varied perspectives, by next Friday."

Draco packed his satchel fastidiously and pretended not to see Potter leave the art building right after him. Potter's pathetic little crush had arrived at a point where if Draco didn't toy with him, he'd hex him. 

Of course… toying with him could work…. Draco took out his mobile and strolled toward his American ex-boyfriend's flat. Harry stayed behind, trying (failing) to be surreptitious. Really, had he forgotten how to cast a decent disillusionment charm?

"Stone? You're home!"

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After Draco said goodbye, he heard Potter's cough. 

Surprised, Draco rotated back on his heel.

Potter struggled to speak as he reddened. Another might've found it cute. Draco was exasperated.

"Er, Malfoy…" Potter scratched an ear, "I'm in DeLonga's class … would you model for me?"

"Bronze?"

"Lost wax method," he nodded.

This was unexpected. But possibly welcome. Potter might be awkward, scrawny and idiotically modest about his wartime accomplishments, but he could sculpt. If Draco agreed, everyone would see how beautiful he was.

"Let's go, Potter, I don't have all day." Draco flipped his mobile open. "Stone will wait."

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"Draco!"

Stone was chasing them.

"Look," Draco dismissed, "sorry to reschedule, but Potter's offer was better."

"Who is this? Are you dating him?"

"Don't be ridiculous! He's going to sculpt me."

Stone calmed. "Oh. You go to that art school, too?"

"Goldsmith's," Draco hissed, remembering why Stone was his ex.

"I'm going to sculpt him in wax," Harry offered with sudden, strange authority. "Then turn it to bronze. I'm going to immortalize his beauty. What can you do for him?"

"Me?" Stone vaunted. "I'm a _Marshall Scholar_."

"Then perhaps, you should revise?" Harry wondered. He tugged Draco's hand. 

Draco followed. 

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"Lead on, _artiste_."

Harry said nothing, but neither did he release Draco's hand. Draco permitted the presumption but when his mobile rang, he answered it one handed to chat with Pansy.

As Potter arranged his tiny campus studio, Draco sat on a crate and dialed one friend after the other, watching. Potter gathered a cube of brown wax, a clutch of metal tools, an electric heater, a squashy stool, and artfully draped an ancient couch with threadbare velvet. Draco was moving toward the couch when Potter stopped him. Confused, Draco looked up. 

"Er, the thing is, I need you… nude."

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"Nude."

"Well, what sort of beauty were you expecting me to immortalize?"

Draco almost cracked a witty insult, but decided he was being foolish. All art students knew what modeling meant. "Robe, please?"

When he stepped from behind the screen the heater was going full blast, and he turned grateful hands toward it. They were loud, but they beat a warming charm any day, and the Muggles expected them. Warmed, he took three steps to the couch and a deep breath.

When his robe dropped, Harry jumped so quickly that his wax fell.

"Let… I need to… arrange you. Draco." 

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"Arrange me? With your hands?"

"Ideally." Harry's face was practically alight.

"For art alone?"

Harry nodded, blush fierce. Then Draco caught an unexpected glimpse of that scar and took the reminder like a jolt. (Right. _That_ scrawny, awkward, annoyingly modest sculptor.)

Draco took a dangerous step into Harry's personal space and stood palms out, expectant. "Well then, artiste, I await."

"Lie down, please."

Thwarted, Draco obeyed. Face aloof, eyes distant, Harry moved Draco's foot, elbow. But he avoided Draco's eyes and Draco saw the erection in Harry's jeans.

Harry stood, hesitated. Then moved Draco's penis, before fleeing to his wax.

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Draco moved only his eyes. Harry's hands were busy, tongue between teeth, knees around wax.

Distracted, Draco was surprised to realize not only that he couldn't see Harry's crotch, but that he kept trying. Was Harry still erect? Why was he eager to know? What did he care if Harry wanted him? Of course Harry did. Every poof wanted him, along with most women and a few straight men. That was a given when one looked like this.

And Draco embraced his power. He dated beautiful, wealthy, promising men. Nothing else. And preferred it that way. 

"I need a break." 

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"Sure." Harry stretched. His shirt rode up and Draco was surprised to appreciate the slight view. Surprised to covet more.

Annoyed, he snatched up the robe. Pushed in. Skulked to the window. What was the _matter_ with him? He had constraints. He had _policies_. Draco Malfoy did not date men like Harry Potter. 

Harry made tea and politely ignored Draco's snit. 

_How dare he?_

Draco whirled around to confront Harry about his cheek and nearly knocked the man over. He stood, sheepish and smiling, holding a tape measure. 

"I think I'm getting your proportions wrong. I need to measure you."

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Draco looked at the tape measure, horrified.

"You have really long legs." Harry scratched his hopeless hair. "I've never worked with a model proportioned quite like you, actually…."

"You just want to measure my legs?"

"Also your torso, and right arm. That'll be enough. Is that——" he slowed, as though he finally understood they might be miscommunicating. "——all right?"

 _Stay in control._ "Should I stand?" he said, voice cold. 

"C'mon." Harry took Draco's hand. "Let's get you away from the window." 

Odd, how he kept doing that. Draco wasn't used to it. 

It was almost sweet. 

 

Not that it mattered.

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Behind the screen, Harry blushed. Stared toward Draco's foot. Silent, he touched the edge of the robe's belt. 

Draco removed the robe. He felt desirable, ridiculous. He hung it on a hook while Harry went to the floor. 

When Harry pressed the tape measure to Draco's leg, Draco broke out in goose bumps. "You must be cold!" Harry jumped for the heater.

"Not!" Mind empty, Draco grabbed for Harry's shoulders and pressed his lips against the other man's mouth. 

Soft… warm… gone? 

"No! I… have a boyfriend!"

Anger twisted him. "Who?"

Harry's blush intensified. "Kingsley." 

"The… _Minister of Magic?_ "

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Draco climbed back into the robe and stared: cheeks flaming, skin prickling, his breath returning slowly. "You're dating… Kingsley." He gathered wits and courage. "So why have you been chasing me?"

"I've not!"

Draco crossed his arms and waited.

"I have _not_ ," Harry griped.

"I wanted you to _pose_. Nothing more."

"The hand holding?"

Pink, Harry looked at the floor. "Nothing more," he repeated.

"Following me? The bravado toward Stone? Calling me beautiful?"

Harry's response was inaudible.

"The blushes?" Draco dropped his volume. "The erection?"

Harry shrugged and stared out the window.

"One of us," Draco decided, "is a fool." 

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"Me," Harry sighed. "That'd be me." A cinnamon tongue-tip showed between sorrel lips. Draco could tell the fool was chewing it.

"Thought I could do this without… never expected…." Harry shifted before raising his eyes. "You caught me off guard. But I won't cheat on Kingsley. It'd probably be best if I sculpted from photos. 'Kay?" He turned to indicate a shelved camera.

Draco stared into unsophisticated eyes and threw out his rules. So he liked powerful men who could do anything for him. He also liked a challenge.

"Certainly. I'll shut down my mobile so we won't be interrupted." 

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Draco had thought he would have to be lewd. He'd pictured himself on Harry's ratty couch: fisting an erection, sticking his arse up in the air, licking his fingers with a visible tongue. But it had been nothing like that. He turned off his mobile, faced away, and dropped the robe slowly off his shoulders and down to the floor. Then he'd looked at the couch, trying to recall his exact position. 

He stood there only a few seconds before Harry had placed him, touched him, lingered over him, caressed him unnecessarily. All the while biting a tempting lower lip.

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Harry finally tore himself away from Draco's naked body to grab the camera, and Draco felt firmly constrained. Flirting now would be so… impolite. Harry had really worked to help Draco into exactly the right pose. How could Draco get Harry's attention without moving?

Well, he reasoned, he still had his eyes, meaningful looks... but no! He had something even better: a clever tongue. "Harry?"

"Yes, Draco?" Harry seemed a bit distracted by his camera, which was a bit annoying. Draco preferred men to focus exclusively on _him_.

Draco looked at the tape measure. "You never did measure my limbs."

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Harry swallowed, but abandoned the camera to measure awkwardly. Draco rested his head; half closed his eyes. 

Harry barely breathed.

That… sparked an idea, actually. Draco inhaled slow, deep; tasted scents… wax, heated air, dusty velvet… Harry. He concentrated on Harry's nervous fingertips touching him. Concentrated on Harry's scent, and felt his cock heat and fill. 

He looked through eyelashes to see Harry staring and used Harry's look of pained need to speed the flow of blood. 

Erection accomplished, Draco was sure he had the man tight in his fist when a voice, deep and chocolatey, spoke. "Isn't this… intimate." 

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Draco seethed in the robe he'd donned and removed multiple times, while Harry and his _boyfriend_ concealed the intimacies of their argument behind the screen.

The _irony_. If he'd known Shacklebolt was gay he'd have grabbed that golden ring months ago and held on. Now he was trying to steal the man's lover.

Miserable, Harry interrupted. "Can Kingsley stay?"

Draco withheld his refusal. Why not let the Minister see his competition? He discarded the robe, paraded over and strove for the pose; dropped his head back and glared through heavy eyelids. He was still half hard. Let them _both_ stare.

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"If I'd known," Draco yawned through another interminable wait, "posing would take so damn long…."

"Sorry," Harry muttered, but looked at Shacklebolt.

"At least toss me a blanket?

"Of course." Harry draped a soft, threadbare grey blanket over Draco, carefully avoiding skin contact. "Er, I need more film. And to borrow lights from Sven. Can, will you wait?"

Draco waved indolently. He had no more classes today. No boyfriend waiting. Hell, when this was over he could borrow Harry's window and start those train drawings. He needed three separate perspectives, and "above" was perfect. 

He hadn't expected to fall asleep.

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Draco awoke disoriented. From wartime habit, instilled by Voldemort's presence in his home, he remained still, eyes closed. In his silence, he overheard Shacklebolt.

"…the beginning. Am I making you happy, Harry? Am I your boyfriend, or just… your bodyguard?"

Harry's response didn't carry, but Shacklebolt had a politician's voice. 

"I've feared you said yes that first time out of obligation, and now, seeing how you look at him… I'm certain."

This time Harry's tone of voice was audible. His mumbles held no meanings, but whispered denials. Regret?

Draco stayed immobile, hoping to hear something even more useful and incriminating.

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Despite a tickling, threatening sneeze, Draco stayed stock-still. They'd moved closer. Or Harry was facing him?

"I…" Harry sounded miserable and Draco's mouth turned down before he could force back the placid mask of sleep. Luckily he faced the couch. "…don't wanna hurt you."

"I'm a big boy, Harry." His tone was sincere but Draco doubted nonetheless. _Politician_ , he accused silently.

"I don't want a man with me for the wrong reasons. In my position I get plenty of offers, yes?"

Harry's chair squeaked. "I do too, you know."

"Harry," the voice was warm and sad. "You're defensive, not jealous."

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A chair rolled and Draco heard stomping. "Are you breaking up with me?" Harry sounded petulant.

"Or are _you_ , breaking up with _me_?" Bastard! The Minister sounded amused!

"Don't tease. This hurts."

Another chair squeak, quieter steps. "I'm sorry. But isn't that what you want?"

Draco imagined Harry turning and sighing into the Minister's arms. "I'll miss you. You've been… perfect. Are you sure you want this? Even after…" Harry _hmmmmed_ throatily, and Draco heard cloth rustling.

The minister groaned, a deep, reluctant sound. "What is this… one for the road?"

 _Off! He's mine now!_ Draco thought viciously, and sneezed.

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Draco sat, wrapping his lower half in the grey blanket. He heard the other men approaching the screen Harry had thoughtfully put around the couch after Draco had fallen asleep.

Harry's knock sounded tentative, though perhaps that was the nature of knocking on bamboo and painted paper.

"Yes, I'm awake," Draco answered sulkily.

Harry's hand pulled the screen aside, but Draco searched Shacklebolt's face first. He read nothing there, and nodded once, in admiration and respect.

Draco stood, nude but for the threadbare blanket he held together just below his waist. In Harry's eyes he saw lust battling with restraint.

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"What did you hear?" Harry wheedled.

"Does it matter?" he snorted. "I'm awake now." He glared at Shacklebolt. "You should go. I believe Harry's lust has effectively been transferred." He waved as imperiously as he thought he could manage while standing nude but for a blanket in front of the Saviour he'd never wanted before and the Minister of Magic.

"Him?" Shacklebolt turned to face Harry, smile spiked with contempt. "You really want this spoiled queen?"

Harry looked undone. He said nothing. 

Draco strode toward Harry, attempting grace despite the long blanket. "What do you think, old man?" he sniffed. 

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He put an arm around Harry, who caressed back. They faced Shacklebolt. 

Draco glared, wishing Shacklebolt would _leave_ , before Draco buckled. Harry stared downwards, but since he was still holding Draco, that was okay. 

"Harry's twenty-one, gorgeous, famous and incredibly talented. He doesn't need some fag twice his age to protect him. He needs a lusty young lover to keep up with him physically, culturally and geographically. The Minister of Magic can hardly jaunt off to Paris for the weekend or spend the summer studying art in Indonesia. And I'm sure _you_ can't fuck all night long.

"Bow out, Grandpa."

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Shacklebolt took Harry's hands in his, making a circle Draco couldn't break. Shacklebolt kissed Harry's left, then his right. "I'll never forget," he whispered in the ear closer to Draco. Then he was gone.

Before the crack of apparition faded, Draco dropped the blanket. Harry wasn't too overwhelmed to put both hands on Draco's bare waist, and Draco kissed him. It was awkward and inelegant. It was sloppy and enthusiastic. It was full of lust and years of uncomfortable history. 

It was perfect. 

They hastily spread the grey blanket and lay on the couch, the heater at full blast again.

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Then Draco's mobile buzzed, vibrating against the floor.

"Thought I turned that off," he grumbled, and looked at the screen. 

_Stone._ Draco cringed. Then he reconsidered. This was actually an opportunity. 

He kissed Harry's shoulder. "I think I should answer," Draco apologized. 

"Stone? This is Draco. Never call me again. Delete my number from your phone. I'm with Harry now. With you it wasn't lust, it was only what you could do for me. Now I know what I was missing I'm never settling again." He closed the phone and carefully turned it off.

"You mean that?"

"Hell yes, Harry."

 

finis


End file.
